


Paradise Lost

by A_CombinationOfLetterzAndNumberz23



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Black Character(s), Bratting, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Dominant Tommy Shelby, Drama & Romance, Drinking, Drug Addiction, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Organized Crime, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Sensory Deprivation, Smut, Spanking, Submissive Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_CombinationOfLetterzAndNumberz23/pseuds/A_CombinationOfLetterzAndNumberz23
Summary: Hazel Montgomery, born to Jamaican immigrants in Small Heath, Birmingham, wants nothing more than to find a way out, or at least that is what her parents have been telling her since she was young. But when she finally does get out, she can't help but go home at every opportunity she gets, it's comfortable, she knows what to expect. She knows who her friends and enemies are at home and how to stay safe, but in London, it's a whole different game.I'm not exactly sure where this fic is going right now, the idea came to me in a dream. The general vibe is dark academia, but set in the early 1920s, and I'm trying to stay as authentic to the time period but some lines may blur. Angst, smut, and all that fun stuff should be expected.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby & Original Female Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

_My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but_ \- “Ow! Ma, you keep burning me,” I sighed halfheartedly from my seat in the kitchen. _-necessary._

“Well eff yuh wudda luk up instead of reading yuh book maybe mi nah bun yuh!” My mother exclaimed, her accent thicker than usual, putting the pressing comb back on the hob with a clank. I closed the old weathered copy of _Wuthering Heights_ I had been reading, not for the first time, and placed it on the kitchen table next to me.

We both knew that it wasn’t true, but it wasn’t worth the hoopla of contradicting her, so I let it go. This was our routine, since I was a little girl; whatever the case, reading or not, there had been many-a-time that the pressing comb got just a little too close and burned me. Nothing stopped it, not good weather nor bad, not when my father didn’t come home one evening, not when the war started nor ended. The only thing that has changed in all these years is that we had to shift from Sunday to Saturday when I moved from Birmingham to London so I could attend university. Straightening my hair was a process, there was a lot of it and it was coarse that’s why we only did it every couple of weeks; we had to make sure there was always enough time to get back to the city on Sundays.

“Well there, now I’ve put it down so you can stop burning me,” I replied sassily glancing over my shoulder at her. She gave my arm a good whack on her way to pick up the pressing comb from the hot cooker.

My mother and I have always been close, but the harder our lives have been, the closer we have become; leaving for university might have been the hardest thing I had ever done, leaving her here in this city full of crime and poverty and death. The air almost putrid with the smell of factory smoke and coal. Once my father was gone, we protected one another; our neighbors didn’t give us a hard time, they were used to us, but outside of this neighborhood, I was just another negro girl. That never stopped me from living my life though.

We knew the only way for us to get out of here was if I was able to get a good job. My parents always had higher hopes than factory work or being a seamstress, like my mother. She was a great seamstress, and she worked hard to house us, feed us, clothe us, to help pay for my studies, but I want more. When I reached the age that most girls in similar situations started working, my parents would not hear a word of it. My job was to study to get good enough grades for me to win a scholarship, which I did. But it never felt right to me, I _loved_ to read and write and even maths, as boring as it was, was one of my strong suits.

My parents did not love their jobs, they came home tired and although they did their best to hide it, I could see the fear of one day losing it all. In truth, I had grown suspicious as I became older, when it seemed as if we were just on the brink, tipping over, miraculously, the money would appear. They never said where any of it came from. Of course, most do not expect their parents to discuss finances with a child, especially a girl but it was different with us. My parents gave me my freedom and let me make my own decisions, I roamed free, one might say I was wild, at least those are the whispers I heard when I walked past. Dirty, smelly, crime ridden but this was my home. Small Heath was where my parents settled after they immigrated from Jamaica and it is where I will return until my family is no longer here.

“Ow was yuh week Hazel?” she inquired as she sectioned off another portion of my hair and began to run the hot comb through it, a small amount of smoke billowing away from my head and floating towards the ground in front of my face.

“Fine, mi finished di essay mi tell yuh bout last week. An di short story mi wrote a gwine be inna newspaper!” I had taken a creative writing class last term and spent the beginning of the summer writing in a small clearing in the woods I had stumbled upon as a child.

The story of two poor children who travel to a different realm, where every colour is more vibrant than the next, and sounds are felt, smells are tasted but there are no other living creatures. They can travel between the two realms with ease when one day the portal between the worlds starts to close. They must decide whether they want to live in a world in which there is misery and suffering but they are surrounded by people who love them or a world where everything is pure and true but they will be alone forever. I never thought it was good enough, but when I read it to my mother, months later, she showered me with praise. Now that wasn’t really different considering it was her reaction to all my work but when I read it to Edie. I knew when she told me it was good, she meant it, she had always been truthful with me, direct, and I with her; that was just our relationship. “Do you remember the one I read to you a couple of weeks ago? About the two worlds,” I questioned.

“Mi memba,” she replied with a large smile, her full lips stretching across her round face. My father always used to say she was most beautiful when she smiles; her eyes twinkle, and her round cheeks rise so high her eyes almost look shut. “Mi prouda yuh. Di Lord have gifted di pen eena yuh hand.” To her, any good that came to us was because of ‘di Lord’ and she would hear nothing different. If you ask me, any God that lets the creature he made live in squalor and suffering should not be praised for the good. My story is being published because _I_ worked hard, not because of the blessed pen in my hand; my smile didn’t waver though.

She placed a kiss on my head as she switched the hob off and laid the pressing comb aside. “Tank yuh Mama,” I told her, accent thick, as I stood up and stretched my arms high over my head. It’s different in London, I get looks of disgust from most of the girls if I slip and speak Patois or like a true Brummie or in front of them. So, when I’m at home I try to get it out of my system. Don’t get me wrong, the bitchy looks will never make me stop, but it is nice to be with people who understand me.

~~~

“Hazel! Where are you going?” My mother called from the kitchen the next morning.

“I’m gonna go see Edie before I leave. I didn’t get to see her last weekend,” I called back, hand on the door handle.

Her head poked out of the kitchen and she looked me up and down, “Tap yuh yelling an come yah.” My hand slipped off the handle and I sighed, rolling my head on my shoulders. “Ah? A yuh sighing at me? Yuh mada?” She feigned hurt, putting her hand delicately to her heart once I had entered the kitchen.

“Not at you. Why I would never,” in my poshest London accent. “I gotta go see Edie, Mom. I’ll come back before I catch my train.”

“Don’t be late, you can’t miss your train an mi cyan buy yuh anotha train ticket.” She leaned over and dropped a kiss on my cheek. “Your train leaves at 1 so be back by noon. Yah?”

“Yah, Mom, mi won’t be late.” I said as I backed away then turned and practically ran out of the door. _Two hours is just not enough! We used to spend hours off by ourselves, and now our visits have been delegated to a few hours once a week or so_. I bounced down the stairs, passing a few of my neighbours as I went. Hurrying out of our building, I swiftly made my way down the street to Edie’s house and entered the hallway. The faint sound of a screeching baby made its way down the stairwell as I knocked loudly twice on the door. There were a few loud footsteps and then the door swung open; I was greeted with a squeal and pulled into a tight hug.

“Hazel! I’ve missed you,” Edie said quickly before stepping into the hallway and turning to call behind her as she shut the door, “Lily! I’m going out, watch the others and none of yous touch the cooker!” Edie’s family is Catholic, so there are a lot of them, and it fell on Edie to watch them during the day, ever since her mother had her last baby. Something went wrong, they both survived, but the doctor prescribed her morphine for the pain and she hasn’t been the same since; that was almost seven years ago. I remember when we were younger, she would pay us two pence to get her drugs for her. Edie’s dad was nice though, he was a soldier in France, and he came back even more gentle than before. Edie says he is broken, and maybe that is true, but he takes care of his family as best he can.

“Missed you too! I only have a couple hours, so we’ll have to try and fit in two weeks’ worth of catching up,” I responded, returning her smile as we walked out the front door and down the street, passing mothers pushing babes in tattered prams and dirty kids rolling hoops down the muddy street, old women sweeping their stoops.

We babbled on about our weeks as Edie pulled out a dainty little cigarette case from her purse, the sunlight that made it past the smog and clouds winking off the shiny surface. She popped it open and removed a long, skinny cigarette, bringing it to her lips. She then shifted the case in my direction silently offering me one and I reached out to take one. “I thought you quit?” Popping it shut with a little snap her hand disappeared in her purse again, emerging with a small pack of matches. We paused our steps as she lit her own and then mine.

“Yea, well,” we started down the street again as she inhaled a lungful of smoke, the end glowing bright red, “I tried but I’m raising four kids that ain’t my own, so I can’t.” She blew a big puff of smoke into the air and I watched it float through the air and disappear.

“Understandable. I never quit,” I chuckled as I puffed my own. Although I smoked far less than Edie, really only socially, she went through at least five a day, if not more. I don’t blame her, basically raising her siblings, since she was 14 years old. It’s always been hard for her but they are older now, more capable of taking care of themselves.

We chatted and smoked and ignored everyone around us as we walked, as if on autopilot, to one of our favorite spots. We turned a corner as I was exhaling a plume of smoke putting Edie and I directly in the path of Thomas Shelby and his two brothers; the psycho and the idiot. They were down the way a bit. One of them said something and they all laughed boisterously. Like confident men, men who believed they are invincible, men that knew people feared them and they could do as they pleased. Almost immediately I noticed his eyes on us, or me, or Edie; I wasn’t exactly sure. Unconsciously my back stiffened just a smidge and I lifted my chin as we got closer. “He is looking at us, right? Like really looking?” Edie half whispered to me, not looking in my direction, her lips barely moving.

“Who cares where he looks?” I reply with a smirk, bringing my cigarette back to my full lips. And I could have sworn one of his eyebrows lifted towards his hairline a fraction but there was no way he could have heard what I said.

“I think _you_ might care Hazel,” she replied lightly, turning her head just enough to glance over at me with a sly grin. I huffed finishing off the last of the cigarette stuck between my slender fingers.

“Ladies,” Tommy Shelby greeted as they passed, his brothers giving us a nod.

“Mr. Shelby,” Edie responded for both of us. I flicked my cigarette to the ground and stayed quiet as we had passed until they turned the corner we had just come round. “War made him quite manly looking, all those sharp angles, and those fuck me eyes.”

I let out a surprised laugh and flicked her on the arm. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you,” I exclaimed, turning my whole body to look at her as we continued walking. “He’s more likely to kill you than fuck you Edie.”

“The Peaky Blinders don’t kill women and children,” Edie joked lightly. She would know, so much has changed since the men came back from the War and Edie had been around to see way more of it than I had. When I left for London, things were bad, but it seems like there are constantly people dying and shooting at each other and it was all because of them. Edie thought that was the reason for my disdain for him and his family and I let her.

~~~

We sat out in the clearing for a long time talking. I told her about my essay being published and we discussed a book she had been reading. There was a new boy she was seeing too, although she wasn’t sure if it would continue as he was a bit of a knob. He was cute though, he had been in our class when we were small, and left even earlier than Edie. We discussed the bitch that is Bernice Dixon, a wealthy country girl whose parents had sent her to London for her education. Her wavy blonde hair and innocent eyes and sickly sweet, soft voice might have fooled most of the people she encountered, including the professors, but I do not fall for such shite. I’m a fucking Brummie, it’s not so easy to pull the wool over my eyes after all I’ve seen.

“I bet that stupid Bernice will just _die_ when she sees your story in the newspaper, bet she’s never had any of her shite writing published,” Edie mused with a dark chuckle.

“If only I had a camera for just that moment so I could capture her sour little face.” In the distance, the clocktower started to ding as the hour struck noon. I sat up quickly from my reclined position in the grass with a gasp. “Damnit Edie, we lost track of time! I was supposed to be home by now,” I exclaimed as I jumped up, tugging on her hand so she would move faster. We were close to 20 minutes away from home and I just knew I was going to get an ear full when I got home.

“Come on, we’ll have to run a little. It’ll be faster.” _I knew I should have worn trousers today._ We slowed to a brisk walk when we were about two blocks away. I patted my hair down, hoping it hadn’t been ruined from all the running and admittedly the sweating.

“I guess it’s like old times,” I panted with a laugh. I was a couple paces behind Edie when she passed the fruit cart on the side of the road and swiped a couple apples off of it. I rolled my eyes but otherwise acted normal until we were around the corner, on our street. _Now it’s really like old times._ We used to steal stuff all the time, just for the thrill, and when we got caught the issue was never pressed too hard because we were children. Eventually, as I got older, I realized that one day I might get caught and we wouldn’t end up in the same place, so I stopped. I don’t think Edie ever stopped, just got better at it; I don’t blame her, especially during the War when her father was away. “Edie, mi nuh getting inna chrent cuz of yuh,” I whispered slightly irritated.

She turned and pinched my cheek, “It’s ok, no one noticed, calm down.” We were standing in front of the entrance to my building and she pulled the apple out of her dress pocket and held it out to me, making a bowing motion as she stretched her hand out towards me. “Mi lady,” she mocked a posh accent, a large grin on her face. When I didn’t take it, she huffed and shook it in my face. “You can think of it as my celebratory gift to you, our reunion, and to your first published work,” she sung the last part.

I sighed and took it from her. “Thank you. I really have missed you,” I begrudged. I wasn’t going to see her for at least five days, no point in being annoyed with Edie just being Edie. “I’m surprised how much I’ve missed Small Heath. The girls at my university in London are tossers. I thought after my first year was over it would get better but I think as long as that pill _Dixon_ is there, there will be a problem,” I let out a shutter breathe and Edie pulled me into a tight hug.

“It _will_ be okay. You’ve dealt with worse, and if you need me, I will come. Promise.” She leaned back with a small smile playing across her face, she wiped a tear from under my eye I hadn’t even noticed yet, and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, “I still say we kick her ass. I can do it so that way you can play as if you know nothing about it.”

I gave her a watery smile and scoffed lightly. “If anyone is going to kick her ass it’ll be me… you can help though, obviously.”

We were interrupted by the sound of a window loudly sliding open and slamming against the pane. I looked up and sighed seeing my mother glaring down at me and Edie turned to follow my line of sight. “Ruth Hazel Montgomery! Weh ave yuh been? Mi tell yuh noon, nuh half past noon, yah?”

“Yah, mada,” I called back when she looked at me expectantly.

“Den move yuh batty before yuh miss yuh train.” Her head disappeared back into the kitchen the window slammed shut.

“Ooooh Miss Ruth is in trouble,” Edie sang. She knew I hated be called by my first name, Ruth was just so plain and wholesome and Biblical; Hazel has always just fit me better.

“Shut up! Come on so I can say bye. This is your fault anyway so you can walk me to the train,” I told her smugly as we entered the building and made our way to the second floor. The sounds of children playing and couples arguing filled the halls. The smell of tea and tobacco and coal permeated the air. “Sorry Mom, we lost track of time.”

“Hullo, Mrs. Montgomery,” Edie greeted brightly, she was used to my mom’s lecturing, they had been the same for years. Edie might even be able to do a better impression of her than I could.

“Afternoon, dear. How is your family?” She asked Edie before turning to me and saying offhandedly, “I made you a sandwich for the trip, it’s on the kitchen table. Get your bags quickly.”

“Oh, you know, ain’t nothing’s changed, they are who they are,” Edie laughed. My mother smiled and gave her cheek a gentle pat. I went into the backroom to get my things then made my way to the kitchen. Their murmured conversation tapered off when I walked into the kitchen. _They like each other better than me, I think. Those fuckers._

“Right, well, come gimme a hug,” she said, standing up from her spot at the table, arms outstretched to me. I stepped into her embrace and gave her a tight squeeze; this is always the hardest part for her, even though I always come back a few days later, she says goodbye to me as if I will never return. “Behave an ave a good week, mi lovely gyal.”

“Love yuh Mom,” I reply gently, dropping my arms and stepping back. “If you need me, you know how to reach me.” I gave her a bright, reassuring smile as I leaned past her to grab my sandwich from the table and tucked it into the inner pocket of my bag. “Ready to escort me Lady Gallagher?” I inquire in my poshest of accents.

She hopped out of her seat and we were off with a final farewell to my mother. We had to walk swiftly to make it to the train in time, and we just barely made it to the platform with enough time to say a quick adieu. “Don’t forget, if you want my help to put Miss Priss in her place, you let me know.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for drug and alcohol use. This is a decently long chapter, I hope you guys like it!

“If you have not already, you should choose the work that you will be the subject of your term papers. You may not use any of the course readings as listed on the syllabus I passed out to you all the first week of the term,” Professor Rose intoned as he paced back and forth across the front of the classroom. Because this was a major specific course, there weren’t many of us, so I’ve never quite understood why he speaks so loudly. _He is probably overcompensating for his age. Him likely not being more than ten years older than the lot of us must have caused some lack of confidence._ “There will be a list outside of my door until the end of the week where you can sign up for a 15-minute time slot to meet with me. Bring the work you choose.” _But what he should really worry about is being less fucking boring._

He led the discussion for most of the class today, which I was grateful for because I had not done the reading over the weekend. I was planning to do it on the train, but I forgot my copy of _The Country Wife_ in my lodgings and had no interest in catching up on all the reading when I returned yesterday. Besides, they had a very different idea of comedy during the English Restoration period. Any man that lies about his virility must be the worst of them, so incapable of being man enough to get a woman by being true to himself, desperate; but it’s a classic, so it must be read. _The most impressive part of this entire course is Professor Rose, Edie wouldn’t be able to control herself if she was in my position. I wonder what she is doing right now,_ I pondered, glancing at the clock above the door. _Ugh, just 2 o’clock, there is still another half hour of this. It’s like torture, I’d rather be in my maths class. I need to go to the library and pick what I will do my final paper on and I have to do those problem sets before maths tomorrow and I need to read for this class. What else? I feel like I’m forgetting something…_

Eventually, I snapped out of my daydreams and glanced back up to the clock. The entire 30 minutes had nearly passed and I had missed almost everything Professor Rose had been saying about the play. _Fuck me, I’m going to have to borrow someone’s notes._ My eyes travelled from the clock down to my professor just as he pulled his pocket watch out of it’s resting place and quickly checked the time. “Right, well that’s it for today. Wednesday, I want your analysis of Acts 1 through 3. We will begin discussing Act 4 next session so please all, be prepared.” At that, the class stirred to life, the sound of books closing and bags snapping open and closed echoed through the room. I tucked my things away and escaped the room of boredom as quickly as possible.

The hallway was quiet when I reached the third floor of my dormitory. I pulled the key out of my book bag and unlocked the door, dropped my bag on the bed then sat in my desk chair to unbuckle and remove my heels, and slipped my feet into my slippers. The desk was cool again my arms and I sighed as I rested my head on them and wiggled the cramps out of my toes. _Who would have thought a single day could be so taxing. Me, of course, I knew that, and I expected it. Sometimes I just want to quit, if I had known coming into this world that being smart was a sentence to a life of learning, maybe I wouldn’t have tried so hard. But who am I kidding? This is me, my detest for failure, for averageness, for mediocrity; that’s what drives me, and the challenging workload and stress are just bigger motivators to make it through._ My inner monologue was abruptly interrupted by a sharp rapping on my door. I slowly brought my head up with a groan, shuffled over to the door, and opened it just enough to fit my head out.

“Let me in,” a raspy voice demanded. With a huff, I stepped aside holding the door open and Flo walked past me. “I think we should go out Friday.”

“Go out _where_?” I asked skeptically as I sat back down at my desk and turned the chair to face the room. Flo followed my lead, sitting down at the unused desk on the opposite side of the room, chair facing me.

“Well, there is this place called The Eden Club. I’ve gone and I would say it’s a good time.”

I stood up to open my window; when I returned to my seated position, I pulled a pack of cigarettes and matches out of my desk drawer. “Okay, but have you been to one with a Black girl?” I inquired, tapping the pack of cigarettes on my palm a couple times before pulling one out and offering the pack to Flo. She took one and I dropped the pack back into the still open drawer. _God, I fucking love having a desk. All my life, I’ve dreamed of having a desk where I could sit and read and write my stories and now, I have two! If only little Hazel knew where she would end up._ I struck a match and lit my cigarette before tossing the matches to Flo; she did the same then threw them back in my direction, aiming for the drawer.

“Don’t worry,” she started, blowing out smoke, “it’s always been a diverse crowd when I’ve gone. This isn’t Birmingham, even if they don’t like you, they like your money. I doubt we’ll run into any trouble.”

I reclined in the chair, resting one arm on the armrest as I brought the fag up to my lips to take a drag. “Okay… okay, we can go. But you have to do my problem sets for tomorrow and go to the library with me tonight after dinner,” I listed my demands. “Oh, and we leave when I’m ready,” I tacked on quickly.

“Done, done, and done. We can leave when you’re ready… _as long as_ we stay at least an hour,” she grinned knowingly at me.

I tilted my head to the side, blowing a lungful of smoke towards the open window and studied her face skeptically, my dark round eyes slightly squinted. She just continued to look at me, a small smile playing across her face, puffing on her cigarette. Finally, I confessed, “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Don’t you worry about that, I have plenty.” She let a smile that had been fighting to curl her lips up win out, her imperfect teeth sparkling in the bit of afternoon sun that made it through the window.

~~~

“Fuck Flo,” I exclaimed as we walked down the hall of our dormitory. “I forgot to sign up for an appointment with one of my professors. I have to go before we do anything else.” One of the girls that had left her room right before we left Flo’s turned to look at me, surprise on her face. I let my eyes went blank, cold, as I stared her down, raising a single eyebrow as response to her disbelief in my choice of language.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I told my mum we would be stopping by later this evening,” Flo responded easily.

“Right then, the office, library, your place,” I ticked off on my fingers. It was just before noon, so we had to rush to my professor’s office. There was no one inside when we arrived but as we walked down the corridor, I heard the murmurings of an intimate meeting, the loud clacking of type writers, books shutting, and the sound of a shattering tea glass followed by quiet swearing. The staccato of our heels clicking against the tiles, one after the other, made sure it was never silent.

“What do you need to having a meeting with your professor for so early in the term anyway?”

“He said something about having to approve our chosen works for the course term paper,” I clarified simply. I stopped abruptly when we reached his office door and reached out for the clipboard and pen hanging off of a hook. Flo hadn’t noticed immediately and had to turn around and join me, standing right behind me.

I flipped through multiple sheets of paper, with dates as the headings before I reached a day with any open time slots. “Shit, Hazel. Looks like it took you long enough to get ya arse down here, all the slots are already filled up!” Flo blurted from behind me, using her advantage in height to peer over my shoulder. I just chuckled and shushed her before scribbling my name down for one of the only three slots left available.

I gave an exasperated sigh, “Of course the only times left open are on a Friday afternoon.” We didn’t have classes on Fridays, and often, I would go home to have a full Saturday to spend in Small Heath. A Friday at home with friends and family was usually more appealing than staying here. I’ve been to a few pubs in the city, but never a club, tonight would be the first time. They don’t let Black people into pubs in Birmingham, and they sure as fuck don’t have any clubs or anything nearly as extravagant as they have in London.

“What happens when you are late, mate,” I placed the clipboard back onto the hook and turned to face her. She gave me a wink and nudged my arm then starting walking back the way we came.

The air was crisp and cool when we got outside; the wind blew lightly, making the fur that lined the collar and cuffs of Flo’s coat dance. I pulled my coat a bit tighter around my body but left the large, shiny buttons undone. The library wasn’t very far from the building with Professor Rose’s office in it, and with the weather not being the most pleasant, the walk was brisk and it took less than ten minutes to make the distance.

Flo reached out to grasp one of the large door handles on the heavy, dark wooden doors and let me enter first. Sometimes, I just had to stop and admire such a beautiful creation. I never would have thought my days would be spent working away in a place so amazing, so much different than I had ever seen before. The interior was big, the ceiling cavernous, but all the dark wood made it feel warm and welcoming. Tall, glass windows lined the two lengths of the library on each level, reaching towards the domed ceiling from which numerous large, black chandeliers hung. We turned to the right and started up the long, winding staircase to half of the second floor. Row after row of dark bookshelves, chockfull of books, lined the long, open area and the walls with groups of four tables breaking the space every ten rows or so. Across the broad expanse of the first floor, on the mirror image of this half of the second floor, I spotted Bernice Dixon sitting with a group of her little followers. We continued on to our favorite table, in the very back, on the bridge between the two sides. I removed my coat, laid it over the back of the chair with my bag, and sat down facing the rest of the library.

I rummaged through my bag and came out with a notebook I used to do the problem sets my maths professor assigned us on almost a nightly basis, my maths textbook, and a pencil. I heard Flo make a disgusted noise and looked up. “More maths?” I shrugged in response. “I’ll never understand why someone on a literature track would take so many maths courses.”

“Because I’m good at it and it’s a lot harder to find work with a literature degree than with a background in maths,” I reasoned. It was advice I had received a very long time ago, from someone who had never been wrong, and since then, it has always just been part of the plan. I’ve not explained my thought process further than that it is practical and those who don’t truly know me, like Flo, assume I’m a realist and move on. Suppressing a sigh, I cracked open the textbook and got to it, hoping it would be finished quickly. Slowly, I felt the tension in my shoulders relax; often, the sounds in this library reminded me of the clearing in Birmingham, the rustling of leaves and pages turning, the spine of a book cracking as it’s opened and small creatures running through the brush on the forest floor. If I closed my eyes and let my mind wander, I would find myself back home, sitting out there with Edie, the sun warming my cheeks.

After I finished the problem sets and glanced through the lesson we would begin next week, I closed the textbook and put everything back into my bag. I stood from my spot, causing Flo to look up questioningly. “Going to look for a book,” I whispered before I walked off to find what I was looking for. I took my time, wandering in between the rows skimming book titles. I stopped to look out one of the windows and felt the heat from the radiator hit the tops of my feet and my stockinged legs. Eventually, I came upon the book I had been searching for and pulled it off the shelf, glad no one else had taken it yet. _It would be my luck, with the amount I procrastinate, to have lost it._

“Took you long enough. Off hiding with the books?” Flo greeted me quietly when I sat back down at out table.

I shrugged and gave her a half smile, “I was just rewarding me-self with a longer walk to my destination than was necessary. What have you been doing while I’ve been gone, hey?” I made a point to look at her messy study area and raise an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look like much to me.”

“I’ve done plenty thank you, just doesn’t look like it. Get back to work,” she huffed, pointing her pen at my face in response to my skeptical laugh. Our banter tapered off and we slipped back into comfortable silence as we continued our work. The chair creaked as Flo shifted from one position to the next and tapped her pen against her open history book.

We worked for what felt like minutes, but when Flo’s stomach growled, I glanced up and noticed the sun’s position near the horizon. I blinked my bleary eyes and waited for them to adjust to our surroundings then leaned back in my chair, stretching a little. “Told Mum we would be round for supper so we should head out soon,” Flo murmured as she looked out the window. “We can eat then get ready to go to The Eden Club,” she said the last part with a huge smile spread across her face.

“Does she know I’m coming,” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t want to show up uninvited and muck up any plans they might have already had. I liked Florence, she was so much like Edie and I, but she could have her head in the clouds sometimes.

“Course she does! Besides, my family bloody loves you, I doubt Mum would ever be upset by you showing up unannounced,” she reassured. I was a bit taken aback by that though, I had only met her family a couple times, and they were always friendly, but I didn’t think they even remembered me.

“Okay… I probably won’t ever do that because mi mada raise mi right, but okay.” _We’re friends, but not friends like that, at least not yet._ “I have to stop back at my room to drop my stuff off.”

Flo looked down at the delicate, little gold watch on her right wrist and sighed. “Come on then, it’s near 5 o’clock and the walk isn’t that short.”

~~~

We headed North, towards Camden Town walking quickly. Of course, the masses flooding the streets, on their way home or to bars or where ever else one goes on payday, didn’t help our speed. Once we got off the main roads, we didn’t have to walk far before we reached her street; it was lined on both sides with tall, brick townhouses. The streets were clean and fires from the streetlights glowed in the dark evening sky. Flo stopped abruptly after we turned the corner and pulled me back sharply by my wrist when I kept walking. “Oi! What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Look, don’t mention me not eating kosher when we get there, I don’t figure it would come up, but if it does, don’t say anything. And if they ask where we are going tell them a bunch of us girls from school are going out to one of the clubs near the campus. Just say you don’t remember the name and it’s your first time going, they won’t ask more.”

“Why exactly am I supposed to be lying to your parents?”

“It’s complicated. They are just super traditional and I don’t need to hear about it forever, okay? Just say you’ll do it,” she pleaded.

“Course I’ll do it! I just wanted to know what type of shite I was walking into,” I joked. _I lie, you lie, he, she, we lie. I grew up lying and being lied to, it’s nothing new. It’s just a part of life, at least where I come from… and clearly in the Cohen household too._

Flo gave my upper arm a tight squeeze and then we continued the rest of the way to her house, as if the conversation never happened. She pulled a key out of her purse and unlocked the oversized front door. We stepped into the foyer and I looked around, surprised by how nice just an entryway looked. Flo said her father was a part of her mother’s family jewelry business and that he owned a deli or something like that but I guess I just didn’t understand what that meant in terms of their financial status. Maybe the way Flo acted like she was a normal person and not some Tory, but I definitely did not think she was this rich. It was a conscious effort on my part to act nonchalant as we walked through the house, Flo casually pointing out room after room until we came back to the drawing room doors which Flo threw open and walked in, head held high.

“’Bout time you got your tohkis home,” a middle-aged woman, I immediately recognized as Flo’s mother, said from her seat on the sofa, a glass of red wine in her hand and a large smile causing the slight wrinkles on her face to become exaggerated. “Your father was right well ready to shoot someone when I told him we had to wait to eat. Ello Hazel, dear,” her mother said, her cockney accent so thick I could hardly understand her at first. _And they talk about fucking Brummies._

“Sorry Mum, we were studying, your burden for having such an intelligent child,” Flo replied with a shrug, and I fought to hold back my laugh. She walked to the sofa and lent over to kiss her mother’s cheek then to pour herself a glass of wine.

“Hello, Mrs. Cohen,” I greeted politely, stepping out of the doorway and into the spacious room. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Mm, yes, it’s very good to see you dear. Florence never brings her friends round, she must really like you,” Flo’s mum noted as she stood from the sofa and started towards a door on the adjacent wall to the one I had just walked through. Taking a sip from her wine glass, she raised her fist and rapped sharply on the door and called out, “The girls are here, Ansel, you can stop sulking now!” I failed to stifle a giggle when I looked at Flo’s flushed face.

“Please don’t encourage her,” Flo intoned, exasperated. “Really, it’s too early in the evening. Wait until after we’re ready to go. Do you want some wine?” She was already pouring me a glass before she finished the question. She closed the distance between us and I grasped the stem of the glass she held out and tasted the wine.

Mrs. Cohen knocked on the door again, the sound sharper this time, and sang loudly, “Ansel, now we’re all waiting for you, Love.” I heard what sounded like a drawer slamming shut and some shuffling before the door swung open, Mrs. Cohen’s hand still raised, ready to knock again. “Well there you are!” She turned her head in my direction and gave me a wink.

“Where the bloody hell else would I be? Can we eat now?” A tall man with thick beard and a Kippah on his head grumbled as he walked out of what I assumed to be his office. He stopped to give Mrs. Cohen a kiss and look down at her expectantly; the moment between them was so simple but intimate, I averted my eyes awkwardly, like I was caught looking at something I shouldn’t. 

“Wouldn’t have roused you if not.”

“Dad, you remember Hazel,” Flo interrupted as way of re-introduction.

He pulled his eyes slowly away from Mrs. Cohen’s face, as if it was a fight to do so, and his dark eyes landed on my face. He made a contemplative noise before addressing us, “Of course I remember Hazel, the talented writer. Good to see you again. How have your classes been, girls?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say ‘talented’ but thank you,” I laughed off his compliment. “It’s good to see you as well, Mr. Cohen.” I would always rather people underestimate me than to receive compliments. If I fail, it is less of a hit to my ego and if I succeed, everyone else is impressed giving my ego a little boost. I completely ignored his question about my classes because it was an ever-present conversation and just tonight, I would like to totally forget about them.

“Right, let’s eat then,” Flo exclaimed before turning on her heel and left the drawing room, leaving us to follow.

~~~

I studied myself in the tall mirror in Flo’s room, the frame golden and ornately designed. _I like this dress._ My eyes roved over my form, the rich green dress, the colour like a jade stone, hung low over my hips, the wide belt, made of the same fabric, divided the simple top from the two-layered pleated skirt that brushed the middle of my shins. I marveled at the softness of the fabric as I let my hands run down the front of the bodice. _Silk. Real. Fucking. Silk. I could make this._ I turned to the side again, my toes digging into the soft carpet of Flo’s bedroom floor. 

“So, what do you think,” she demanded from beside one of the huge open windows as she puffed on a cigarette.

“I could make this,” I breathed thoughtfully, still admiring myself in the mirror.

I heard her huff behind me. “What?”

I tore my eyes away from the mirror and turned to look at her. “I _said_ : I could make this,” I declared with confidence this time. It was then that I noticed the look she was giving me, like she couldn’t understand what I was saying, I shifted from one foot to another, starting to feel self-conscious. “What?”

“You’ve been staring in that fucking mirror,” she used the hand holding the cigarette to gesture towards me, some ash falling to the floor, “for almost _ten minutes_ , and all you have to say is that you can _make_ the dress,” she inquired slowly, emphasizing the last few words, as if to help me understand.

I rolled my eyes and walked over to the vanity, _yea she has a fucking vanity_ , picking up my glass of wine. “Well, what exactly do you want me to say?” I finished off the half full glass in a couple of gulps and went to pour myself another. _If we’re going to do this, we’re gonna fucking do this. Haven’t had a good time in London since the term started. I’ve been working hard, I deserve this._

“Hazel, you look bloody stunning in that! Open your eyes woman!” She looked like she wanted to shake me and I couldn’t hold back the scoff. I didn’t look that good. “You don’t have to make one, you can have it. I mean if you want, it looks better on you anyway.”

“Thanks, Flo, but I don’t need your charity,” I deadpanned.

“It’s not charity, it’s a gift. Besides, if you really can make that, maybe you can make me something that looks as good on _me_ as that dress looks on you.” She looked up at me slyly from under her lashes as she sipped from her glass of wine.

“Yea, maybe,” I contemplated.

Flo perked up again like she does when she has one of her ideas; I was immediately suspicious. “Can I do your make-up?” _Oh Jesus._ I rolled my head on my shoulders, looking up at the ceiling for a few heartbeats, before agreeing. “Really?”

“Yes, yes, really. I figure if we’ve already come this far, we might as well go all the way,” I sighed.

She practically ran over to the vanity and gestured for me to sit down on the bench; the plush cushion littered in small pink and blue flowers. She leaned over me, her slim figure bent at the waist, and examined my face as she would one of her lab specimens. After what felt like the most uncomfortable few minutes in the last few months of my life, she straightened suddenly, made a noncommittal noise, then got to work. Flo was silent while she worked; she combed mascara through my eyelashes, they immediately felt heavier. “Don’t blink for a minute or you’ll smear them,” she admonished. I huffed as she moved away and returned with a compact full of brown powder, which she opened and rubbed her index finger in. “Close your eyes,” she murmured. My eyes slid shut and she went to work, covering my eyelids in the brown powder. She continued worked in silence, eventually moving on to other parts of my face but my eyes remained shut. Slowly, my body adjusted to the loss of sight and the silence; I could hear footsteps on the cobble stoned street and loud laughing from downstairs and a car horn blowing in the distance. Flo mumbled to herself and the scent of wine and smoke wafted over my face. Finally, I felt her straighten and step away. “Take a look.”

I opened my eyes and turned my body to face the vanity mirror. _What the fuck_. _I mean, I’ve done my make-up before but not like this._ It was the red lipstick that made the difference, complementing my dark complexion to perfection. I glanced over to Flo then back to the mirror, “I love it. Flo, really, this is magical.” I stood up walked back to the full-length mirror.

“We’re gonna have to do this a lot more often. This is fun,” she almost sounded surprised, like she hadn’t expected to have fun, but I guess I’m surprised we were having as much fun as we were. “It won’t take me long to get ready, I already know what I’m going to wear,” Flo told me, standing in front of the open wardrobe.

She bustled around for a bit, while I got more drunk and sat by the window smoking my cigarette. We prattled on while Flo got dressed in a flattering gold number and did her own make-up; before long, we were heading downstairs. I followed behind Flo as she basically tiptoed to the front hall; not that her parents could likely hear us coming anyway, if the loud music and laughing coming from the drawing room was anything to go by. Flo called out that we were leaving as we donned out coats and gloves and ventured out into the cold, autumn night. We walked in silence for some minutes, my head down, against the stinging wind beating against us, until we emerged from the small residential streets onto the main road. Flo quickly hailed a taxi, her black leather, gloved hand waving daintily in the air. I was immediately grateful for our earlier decision to take a taxi as soon as we slid into the small enclosed space in the back; with the biting wind gone and our bodies near each other, arms brushing, before very long, I was warmed back up. The ride wasn’t long from Camden Town to the east side of the city, when the car pulled onto the street where our destination was, Flo nudged my arm and pointed out the window. “There it is,” she half-whispered excitedly, squeezing my hand. Flo dug around in her purse, coming out with her little black coin purse which had a silver clasp on the top, the coins jingled as we bumped around in the back seat. When we came to a stop in front of The Eden Club, she reached a hand over the front seat, the coins held between her fingers glinting in the bright lights being emitted from the club, like a beacon.

Flo opened the back door and stepped out with me not far behind. She hooked her arm on mine and we walked towards the large men in nice suits standing at the front doors, ours chins up and backs straight. “Are you ready for a good time?”

I had to laugh, “Maybe you should be asking yourself if _you_ are ready for a good time. I think you underestimate how much of a Brummie I really am.” I guess I can’t blame her, I made a conscious effort to consistently _not_ act like I’m from Birmingham; that was a part of my life now sequestered to the weekends and holidays, and I was fine with it. We were waved through, by what I could only assume was security, without hesitation, and left our coats with the girls in the cloakroom. It felt like every man we passed had their eyes on us, enjoying the show. I felt my hips swaying, loose from the generous amount of wine I had drank throughout the evening, as we walked across the large room straight to the bar. The music in the room was so loud I could feel it in my chest, like my own heartbeat had been replaced by the beating of the drums. Jazz music, something I had discovered shortly after moving to London, and only in small doses; it makes me feel alive, from the vibrations in my feet to the beating in my chest, it was beautiful.

 _This place is like nothing I’ve seen before_. My eyes wandered around the room, stopping to take in the couples and girl friends dancing lively in the center of the room to the music emanating from the front of the room. Wisps of smoke slowly glided through the air as people fucked in the back of the room, the drums boomed, drinks flowed, and everywhere I looked were tiny blue bottles, glowing in the dimly lit room. We made our way through the room, around the dancers, and sat down at one of the tables. I almost missed Flo repeating the same question the waitress, that appeared shortly after we sat down, had asked as the saxophones and drums came to a crescendo. “Gin and tonic, thanks,” I leaned closer to her to nearly shout my reply. Gin was modern and sophisticated; I had decided on my first night out in London that it would be my drink, leave the whiskey in the Cut with the rest of the Brummie bastards. She returned fairly quickly, considering how busy they were, and placed two napkins down on the table, followed by our drinks. “Hey Flo,” I called after taking a sip of my drink, “what are all these blue vials?” I subtly nodded my head in the direction of the table beside me.

Her eyes flashed over to the table then back to me and a grin spread across her face. She leaned forward, our faces close enough that I could see the tiny little scar above her right eyebrow. “They call it Snow. The soldiers brought it back with them, drives ‘em fucking mad. It’s amazing, powerful. It might bring tonight to another level… if you want to try it.” I could tell she was unsure of whether or not I would be offended that she offered, just more confirmation that we didn’t really know each other.

I’ve formed a very specific image of who I am here; the day I received my notice of acceptance, I knew that I would be leaving the old Hazel behind in Birmingham and curating a more sophisticated version of myself. Everyone knows everything and everyone in Small Heath, the good, the bad, the ugly, and in Small Heath, there was a whole lot of ugly. In London, no one knew me, I could be whoever I wanted to be. “I wanna try it,” I confirmed blithely. “Then maybe we can dance, that’s why we’re here innit?”

She smiled then craned her neck, looking for a waitress. _Does she mean to buy drugs… through the waitress? Because surely, she knows they are not the dealers._ Flo has been a major source of confusion since I met her my first year in London. She speaks with a cockney accent, and her parents act as if they didn’t grow up in _polite_ society. But they live in a nice house in Camden Town; Flo hasn’t ever spoken much about her family, or what her father does, other than the fact that he works with her mother’s family jewelry business. I can only assume she didn’t spend her entire life in such a regal area of the city, but if she is trying to buy drugs through a waitress, she must have been in Camden Town for a long time. She eventually made eye contact with one of the girls bustling to and from the bar, with glasses empty and full, and motioned her over. The waitress leaned down in order to hear Flo better but shook her head when Flo tried to offer her a five-pound note that she produced out of nowhere, instead, gesturing over to a table towards the back of the large room and walked away. Our eyes followed in the direction she had pointed and I caught a glimpse of a dark-haired man who looked to be in his early twenties, close to us in age. I turned back to look at Flo expectantly, “Well, what did she say?” I demanded, sipping my drink.

She held the folded the note between two fingers and tapped it against the table. “She can’t be the go between,” she started hesitantly, “but we can go to the man at that table and he will help us.” But she didn’t move from her spot, something like uncertainty played across her face.

“Okay, so are you going to go?”

“Maybe we should wait until we go out another night,” she hedged.

“Why? You just seemed like you wanted to do it. What could have possibly changed in the span of thirty seconds?” _Mi gonna to get bloody whiplash._

“I just don’t want to go back there, okay?” Flo huffed.

“So, what is it? You want to wait or you don’t want to go buy it?” She just shrugged her shoulders. “What if I go get it?”

Her eyes flashed to mine. “You would do that?” She sounded perplexed, like that was the last thing she expected me to say.

 _She acts like she is so big and bad but she is afraid to buy a little vial of white powder in a crowded club? What does she expect to happen?_ I just shrugged, “Why not?” I grabbed the money from her hand and stood up. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” _This is probably the safest place I’ve bought drugs honestly._ Not that I would ever tell her that, it’s clear that we have had very different experiences in life. I turned and walked away before she had time to say anything, my eyes trained on the man sitting there. He noticed my approach when I was nearly to the table, so I flashed him a sweet little smile.

“What can I help you with?” His voice was deep, able to reach my ears without him shouting. He leaned back in his chair to look up at me, his crocked nose cast shadows across his face.

I pulled one of the empty chairs out and sat down because why wait for an invitation. “I hear you’re the bloke I’m supposed to talk to about getting my hands on a couple of these pretty blue bottles,” I told him bluntly.

He was quiet for a second, his expression unreadable, before he sniffed and nodded his head. “How much do you want?”

“How much will five quid get me?” His hand disappeared into his suit jacket pocket and re-emerged with two little vials that he placed on the table in between us. I could just take what he is offering, but then again, why would I settle for that. I looked down at them unimpressed before schooling my expression into something akin to flirtation and looked up at him through my mascara heavy eyelashes. “Hmm, only two?” I moved hair closer to him, tilting my head to the side.

A lazy smile played across his face as he leaned forward and produced another bottle. Much closer this time, so he could be heard over the music, he murmured, “Yes, only two. But I’ll give you one more because I like lookin’ at ya.” He returned to his casual position and held the bottle in the air and dropped it into my naked palm. The power of just a fucking look. One might not think of this as any great triumph, but if I could just _look_ at him and get a free one, the possibilities were as near endless as this world would allow. _Men think they are powerful because women will do their bidding, but we are the ones with real power. Let a man believe you will give him whatever he wants, do whatever he wants, and he’ll do anything you wish._ Edie’s mom told us that when we were just girls; after she had already mucked up her brain with all the shit. I learnt later on, when I was older, just how much I could squeeze from a man with little more than a smile and some pretty words. Weak at the idea of the chance for more.

I left the five pounds on the table, plucked the other two vials up, and stood from the table. “Thank you,” I murmured sweetly.

“What took so long,” Flo demanded back at the table. I placed two of the bottles on the table between us, the other resting safely in my bag.

“It was barely five minutes; I was just being polite. You know, building a rapport in case we want to take our business back to him,” I replied with ease, and finished off the remains of what was left in my glass. Flo slid another across the table to me and I noticed her full glass; she must have ordered them while I was away. One of the benefits of being friends with Flo, it seemed like she always had infinite money to spend, so who was I to complain about another drink. “A woman who knows my heart, you are,” I laughed and took another sip. I could feel the drinks catching up to me, the world was slowing down around me. I guess it was true for the both of us because Flo giggled the way she only does on late nights with a few bottles of wine in her system. I watched her shake the snowy powder onto the table and use another note she pulled from her purse to divide the pile into four little neat lines. After rolling it up, she bent over the table with the note to her nose and snorted one line after another then handed it to me.

“Just put it to your nose and breathe it in. It might feel weird at first but you get used it.” I took the note and followed suit, snorting the two lines she left for me. In the span of a single song, I felt it’s affects. My heartbeat matched the fast pace of the drums and I couldn’t help but wiggle to the music. I turned to Flo, eyes wide, and grabbed her hand.

“Come on Flo, I wanna dance,” I pled excitedly. She allowed herself to be pulled out of her chair and to the center of the room. My brain felt like it was a fire piston, everything was so clear. Every color, every sound, and touch felt more vibrant and beautiful. _Fuck I am so happy._ The music was fast and loud and the space was crowded, bodies brushing against bodies, women being swung through the air by men just as energetic as us. Flo hadn’t released my hand, instead, reaching out to take the other as we ripped through the crowd like no one else in the room existed; our hips, our feet moving to the beat. It didn’t feel like long before Flo was pulling us back to the table to sip on our drinks and do a few more lines. The pattern of the night: drink, snort, dance, repeat; light travelled through my body and out of the tips of my fingers and toes. For the first time in a long time, I felt alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments on the last chapter. I was genuinely surprised by the positive response and I 'm glad you guys liked it because I've really enjoyed writing it. Let me know what y'all think about this chapter, I hope it meets expectations! Also, I think I know the direction this story is going to go now that I've gotten this chapter out. Be on the look out for the next update, hopefully it won't take me as long to get it out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C/W: references to consensual drug use

First thing in the morning, I caught the train back home, which I have to say was truly an accomplishment. I’m not even exactly sure if I slept a full two hours before the din of the alarm clock bell rang through the room, by the grace of God we had remembered to set when we stumbled home. The loud ringing tearing me from my drunken slumber. Flo’s father woke along with us to drive me to the train station. The ride was silent, but I was okay with that; I’m comfortable with silence and in this case, it meant fewer chances to slip up and tell him something about his daughter he didn’t already know. As soon as my arse hit that train seat though, I was out cold, practically dead to the world.

~******~

My eyes cracked open when I felt the train pull to a stop and stretched my arms towards the sky, fingertips brushing the underside of the luggage hold above my head. I felt much more alert waking up this time, and the walk home helped all the more. Who would think the stench of Birmingham could stimulate the senses so much.

The halls were bustling with children playing and women hanging their laundry to dry when I entered our building; but when I walked into our apartment, it was empty. _Damn, I was hoping she would still be home._ It was mid-morning, but sometimes she didn’t have appointments until the afternoon, or at least after 9 o’clock, especially on a Saturday. I left my shoes by the front door and I went into my room. I slid out of the navy-blue day dress I had worn yesterday and stumbled to put back on in the dark this morning. Leaving it in a heap on the floor, I walked to my wardrobe and pulled on a pair of old, grey men’s trousers I had tailored years ago to fit me and a thick turtle-neck sweater. It was one of my favorite sweaters, simple and comfortable; the body was tan, but the neck and cuffs of the sweater were a warm brown and there was a wide stripe around the middle of the same colour. An outfit put together enough that most of the people I passed on the street couldn’t deny the fact that even in full men’s attire I was still captivating.

I wiggled the trousers over my hips and buttoned the four grey buttons on the inside and the black one on the top. I pulled the sweater over my head and smoothed down any frizz it might have caused. It’s more comfortable like this, trousers allowed me to move more efficiently and go places I just couldn’t in dresses and skirts. Sometimes during the week, I would kick myself for not bringing at least one pair with me to the city but there was no use to them in London. My mother never found herself able to let go of all the men’s clothes we had; I tailored them so that at least they would be used. She hates seeing me in these clothes, but she had her way of coping and I had mine, something she realized she would have to accept many years ago. The soft pat of skin on wood met my ears as I walked to the kitchen to get myself something to eat. After I set the kettle on the hob to boil, I made myself a quick sandwich, with butter on both sides and a thin slice of cold ham sliced in half. Sitting at the table, I nibbled on half of the sandwich as I began reading the book I had chosen for my term paper. I was half way down the second page when the kettle started to squeal.

With a cup of Earl Grey in one hand, my sandwich in the other, and my book tucked under my arm, I went out into the hall and settled on the one of the lower steps of the stairs between the second floor, ours, and third floors of the building. As I got older and stopped spending most of my days running wild through the streets, I found myself on these steps more and more often. Our apartment used to be loud and full of life, and now, the silence is suffocating. Especially when my mum wasn’t there, which was often. At some point, I guess we both just decided that the memories these walls hold are too much to handle for very long. So, the stairwell joined the meadow on the list of places that brought me solace.

The buzz of life coming from the other apartments, on the streets, and on the stairs above and below lulled me into a state of contentedness. I was enthralled in my book when I heard a door downstairs bang loudly against the walls; rather, louder than usual, enough to draw my attention away from my book briefly. _Fucking kids_. I got through half a sentence before the yelling started.

“Right! Go inside!”

“Get inside! Close your doors.”

“Oi! Stay away from the windows.”

Irritation burned hot in my core; I recognized those fucking voices, at least a few of them. I stayed where I was, the shouting continued, fast steps going down the corridor range out below me. _I’ll be fucking damned if those bastards are going to come in here and ruin the rest of my fucking Saturday morning._ I relaxed back into the position I had been in before all the chaos had started and went back to reading my book. Heavy footsteps and mothers calling to their children and doors slamming rang through the building as my neighbors around me obeyed the orders of the men that bewitched the few and terrified many. I kept reading as the noise advanced towards me, well pretending to read because how the fuck could I concentrate with all this shite going on around me. Even when they reached my floor and rounded the corner to move up the next set of stairs, the ones I was sitting on, my charade played on as they passed, not looking up once.

I felt the fabric of one of there trousers brush my shoulder as Arthur shouted, “Stay in your homes, by order of the _Peaky Blinders_.” I barely succeeded in containing my scoff. The last of the men, like a fucking army, were walking past me I saw a pair of dark brown, leather boots stop in front of me. Still, I sat and read the same sentence again for the fifth time, then lazily flipped the page. I could feel his eyes burning a hole into the top of my head as I kept my nose buried in the book.

“Hazel,” a deep, gravelly voice addressed me. I kept reading. A short pause and a sigh. “Hazel, go inside your apartment.” I my eyes bounced over the page, picking out a few words, a sentence, ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven...’. He didn’t say anything else and I hoped he would just mark it as a loss and go about whatever criminal activity was apparently set to take place at my house. Instead, he plucked the book right from my hands and I heard it snap shut. “Get inside, I don’t have time for this,” he declared not unkindly.

I closed my eyes and rolled my head on my shoulders, breathing deeply through my nose, my face pointed up towards the sky. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked back down, to the voice making demands. I held his gave, my dark eyes staring back into his pale blue ones. _He doesn’t fucking intimidate me. What the fuck is he gonna do?_ “And _I_ don’t have time for this,” I quipped waving my hand between us. “Give me back my bloody book.”

He tucked the book behind his back, stepped onto the first stair, and leaned down into my face. “Get in their before I fucking put you in there,” he warned completely unphased by my coldness. _Boxcova! Where does he get off? Making demands of me, speaking to me as if we have any sort of casual relationship._

“Oh, piss off, Tommy Shelby,” I snapped standing up abruptly forcing him to straighten up or else stay bent over staring at the crotch of my pants. “Coo yah, me not some fucking child you can order around and I’m surely nuh fraid ah yuh. What makes you think I’ll do anything you say?”

He blinked slowly at me then cleared his throat. _Ha! That was easy._ “Because, if for no other reason than self-preservation, you should do as I say because I am the _head_ of the Peaky _fucking_ Blinders.” I laughed in his face. _Bunch of fucking bookmakers is what the lot are. Bookmakers and drunks and bastards._ Before I could say anything though, I heard a gun go off upstairs and an uncontrollable yelp escaped my mouth as I ducked and covered my head. I heard Tommy swear; before I could get my bearings, he had a strong grip of my arm and was shoving me through my apartment door. He tossed my book in behind me and pointed his finger in my face, “You stay in here away from the fucking windows and be quiet,” and slammed the door.

I shouldn’t be surprised, everywhere he goes, death and destruction follow. After his footsteps faded there was silence for a few heart beats. My heart was beating so fucking fast in my chest, not that I would have confessed to the fear coursing through my body. Gun shots rang out from overhead and I moved to sit on the floor near the wall furthest from the door and waited. At some point during the barrage of gunshots, the church bells began ringing, marking the start of a new hour. I counted the tolls in my head as I sat hunched down staring at a single spot on the floor in front of me. _1…2…3…4…_ I jumped as there was a loud thud almost directly overhead. _I gotta move away from this place._ _5…6…7…8… It’s not safe. 9…10…11…12…_ By the twelfth toll of the bell, the gunshots had ceased, and the building was almost eerily quiet. It was still. I could hear low voices and shuffling around coming from upstairs. The muffled cry of a baby somewhere else in the building. I stayed seated on the floor, ready for more potential gunshots. _This is why life can never get better here. Fucking shoot outs taking place in the middle of a housing complex on a Saturday afternoon with women and children about. It ain’t right._

This was a common occurrence; I can’t say I’ve not been in the middle of a shootout or two before, but that was a long time ago. When most of the men left for the War, the Shelbys were along with them and there was a lot more peace on a day to day basis. The women ran their business and as expected were able to manage things without constant violence. They say women are too emotional and soft to truly ever run anything, but the truth was that we should run it all. Imagine, England with a female prime minister. Then they came back, and all the shite started up again. It was happening long before I was on this Earth and it won’t ever stop. I know that now. There was a time when I thought everything would get better, and I would spend the rest of my life here in Small Heath, the only home I’d ever known. But that was a long time ago too. _I can’t fucking live like this, mi Mom can’t fucking live like this._ I could hear the beating of my heart behind my ears, my eyes still locked on the same spot on the floor. _I have to leave here. It’s not safe here, it’s not safe here, it’s not safe…_ Maybe London was making me soft, I had grown used to calm afternoons, days without waking up to screaming babies, death and violence and destruction weren’t waiting to wreak havoc on my life. _It’s not safe, it’s not safe…_

“Hazel,” a sharp voice interrupted my ruminating thoughts. Before I realized it, Tommy Shelby had squat down in front of me and had a firm grip on the back of my neck. “You’re okay, you’re safe.” He gave my neck a squeeze and I tore my eyes away from the spot on the floor to look glassy-eyed at him. _Had I said that out loud?_ I blinked a couple of times before I came back to my senses and shied away from his hand still on my neck.

I scrambled to stand from the floor, and he followed suit. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I bit. He just stood there staring at me the way he does when he is trying to intimidate you. I crossed my arms and averted my eyes; over his shoulder, I noticed the door to the apartment standing wide open. _At least I have an easy escape route if he decides today is the day I’ve annoyed him enough to kill me._ “What do you want?”

“You don’t want to know what I want,” he said dangerously.

Glaring at him, I pointed to the door, “Then get out.”

“This,” he started, gesturing up and down in my direction, “needs to fucking stop.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” I scoffed, playing dumb. As time dragged on, my anger grew stronger and stronger, something I had learned to control over the years. It was harder to do so in Birmingham, as with everything else. Perhaps because explosive shows of anger and violence were so acceptable and normal here amongst the poor and working class, or perhaps just because there were so many reasons to be angry here; I’m unsure of which is the case.

“It means,” he took a step towards me, and I matched his with a small step back, my back now flush against the wall, “that you need to find a way to curb this attitude you have. Since I’ve been back, you’ve been publicly rude to both me and my brothers. You’re lucky that there is history between our families or I wouldn’t have ever let this stand.” I flinched away from the reminder of his part in my life but he continued on as if he didn’t notice. “What are other people to think if I let some little girl run around disrespecting me?”

“I’m not a fucking little girl. You better recognize that fact and quickly,” I ground out, jabbing his chest with my finger and staring up at him. If he was going to drive me to anger then it was only right that I piss him off too, and due to our ‘families’ history’ I knew exactly how to do that.

In the blink of an eye, he snatched my wrist and held it tightly. “You certainly aren’t behaving as anything else.” I tried to wrench my arm out of his grasp but his firm hold did not budge. “Fix yourself, or I’ll fix you me self,” he threatened, meeting my glare with an icy stare. Again, I tried to pull my arm free, but he held on tightly for a second, as if to prove he was stronger than me, then released my arm and stepped back. He cleared his throat and straightened his dark waistcoat before he turned on the heel of his boot, his coat sweeping out behind him, and walked out without another word. I expected him to slam the door behind him, but he shut it gently, like nothing had even happened.

My head fell against the wall still pressed to my back. I inhaled deeply through my nose, eyes shut, and I could still smell him, horses and tobacco, as if he were still stood right in front of me. My blood was still boiling and I couldn’t hold back the angry scream that clawed its way up my throat. _I need to get out._ I hurried to my room and pulled out my boots from the wardrobe and a switchblade from under my mattress.

Out in the living room, I sat on the sofa to pull the boots on one at a time. I picked up the knife and ran my fingers over the little ‘CM’ and ‘RM’ that had been engraved on the wooden handle as I had every time I’d touched the thing for almost ten years. I took another deep breath, _horses and fucking tobacco_ , and slid the closed blade into the side of my boot and laced them up. I straightened my pants and fled the apartment without another glance back, my writing journal tucked under my arm.

The bite of cool air that hit my face helped me clear my stress addled head as I made my way down the street to Edie’s place. One of her little brothers was outside with some of his friends when I got down there, “Oi! Oliver, go tell Edie I’m here.”

“Why should I,” the little fucker demanded. _Fucking kids_.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll through you in the fucking Cut,” I told him only half joking. He rolled his eyes but did as I bade him. I was staring up at the grey afternoon sky when I heard her come out of the door behind me. “I want to smell the flowers,” I called to her, my eyes still glued to the sky. We used to speak in code all the time growing up, we could talk about anything we wanted right in front of people without worrying about anyone eavesdropping. 

“Right, well I ain’t got any money,” she informed me.

“What do we need money for when your mom has got an entire fucking poppy field in her bedroom?”

“Because she doesn’t like us stealing from her. If she notices anything missing, I’m telling her it was your idea,” Edie said.

I finally brought my eyes back down and turned to look at her. “Edie, come on, she won’t.” She caught us one time and Edie had used that line to feign disinterest ever since; at least, when it was my idea. But her mum is a lot slower now than she was back then, due to age and the fact that she has just slowly been losing her mind over the years because of all the drugs. It was sad, honestly, and I knew the state of her mother weighed heavily on Edie’s mind, but she had long stopped talking about her. The last I saw her, her face had gone utterly pale and her body withered away there on the sofa, her eyes staring right through you.

~*****~

“The blanket was a good idea,” I told Edie offhandedly as I lay on my back, smoke slowly drifting past my full, round lips.

“What? Yeah, been pissing it down. First time I’ve seen the sun and the sky in a few days,” she replied as she prepared the opium and the pipe. From the corner of my eye, I could see her bring the pipe to her lips and lean over the tall, thin candle she had half buried in the ground. Her thin hand blocked my view of the trees and sky above us, and in it was the pipe. I stubbed my cigarette out in the muddy earth and slid it into my pocket. Part of the unspoken agreement between Edie and I, this clearing has been the only place of solace from the hell that Small Heath and we would leave it the closest to how we found it as we could. And it seemed as if we had been the only ones to ever find it, or ever cared to return, and very few people had we ever shared it with.

I pulled myself into a half lazy sitting position and brought the pipe to my lips, bringing in a mouth full of the smoke before inhaling deeply as I leaned over the tiny flame. Edie released a sigh of contentment as she laid down on her side, facing away from me. I followed suit, laying back down on my back to watch the dense cloud of smoke I exhaled float up to the afternoon sky. Slowly, then all of a sudden, I felt my grasp on this world slip through my fingers. _Never takes long, does it?_ The leaves hanging high about our heads shook in the cool wind as if to welcome us back to this sacred place.

I felt as if I was so in tuned with nature’s response to our presence that if I were to bury my fingers in the wet ground, I would be absorbed into the earth as if I was always meant to be there. I ran my fingers over the gooseflesh the crisp air left in its wake, the sleeves of my sweater pushed up to my elbows. The trees bent and swayed in the wind as if they were just saplings. Where my eyes could not see, in the darkness of the forest around us, the sound of children laughing range out. I turned my head in the direction of the sound just in time to see a little girl, hair the color of flames flying behind her, emerge from the shadows into the clearing. She stopped to turn and motion to the little girl not far behind her; a thick crown of tight curls framed her face, still round with the fat of childhood. _Hurry, before he catches us_ , she giggled and raced past us back into the shadows, the other not far behind; the sound of their happiness falling behind them like veils. My eyes followed them lazily across the clearing all the while. _Ruth! It’ll be dark soon,_ a deep voice called from behind the trees. Without seeing his face, I knew who the voice belonged to. Even if I had forgotten his voice after all these years, I knew this scene that played in front of my eyes well. But my heart still gave a little squeeze when he came through the trees right beside us.

“Charlie,” I breathed, the smallest of smiles tugged at one corner of my lips. His head turned in the direction of my voice and his eyes met mine, except his eyes were mine, and ours were our father’s. _There you are,_ I would think him angry if not for the smile that mirrored my mother’s stretching his lips wide. _Mom wants you home for dinner, Bug._ He closed the gap between us. Squinting up at him against the sun, I reached my hand out, as if for him to help me stand up. My arm was heavy and swayed with the weight. I smiled up at our clasped hands. But I blinked and then felt nothing and all that was in the space he had occupied was sunlight. My eyes franticly searched the clearing, gravity holding my head to the ground, too heavy for me to lift; but he was gone and would not be back. I let my hand fall to the ground, it landed off the blanket and in the muck. I closed my eyes and allowed my hand to slide through the mud and grass.

~******~

When the fog broke and I opened my eyes, the sun was nearly behind the trees and Edie was sitting, half reclined, beside me smoking a newly lit cigarette. “We should probably head back soon,” she murmured softly. I groaned my agreement and stretched my arms above my head and pointed my toes as hard as I could with my feet still in my boots.

“Give me one,” I asked lightly, my voice laced with sleep. She took another cigarette out of the shiny case laying between us and put it to her lips. She used her already lit cigarette to light the new one and handed it to me. I watched her hum to herself as she rested her cheek on her knees, she had tucked up to her chest. “How are you feeling,” I questioned before I let a plume of smoke fill my mouth and took a deep breath.

Without looking up from the grass she was running through her fingers, “Perfectly average.”

“You know,” I started thoughtfully, “you should come stay in London with me for a few days. You could come on a Thursday and stay the weekend. I have the extra bed in my room.”

“I would… but the kids need me. I can’t crust them to survive for more than a day without me, let alone an entire weekend.”

“Come on, they are getting old enough to look after themselves, and it’s not like your Dad isn’t around now. The war is over, he can help shoulder the responsibility.”

“Yeah, I can hear dear ole’ Da now, ‘You want to leave me here with these wildings to go running round with them cockney bastards?’” She perfectly mimicked her father’s deep bravado; his bark was a lot meaner than his bite.

“And you can tell him no, you’ll be ‘running round’ with _me_ and those cockney bastards,” I joked. “Besides, I want to take you to this club I went to last night with Flo. And finally show you the library and my room and everything else I’ve told you about,” I had talked to Edie about Flo enough times for her to practically know her. I told her anything and everything about my time in London.

She hummed, “A club? You going to clubs now?” Finally, she lifted her head off of her legs and turned to meet my gaze.

I brought my cigarette to my lips and smiled before inhaling a bit of smoke. _Knew that would get her._ “ _Indeed_ , my dearest friend, a club. That lets women and black people in without a problem. We can enjoy a few fun nights out, anywhere in town without some thick-headed muppet hounding us.”

“Tell me more about these clubs of equality,” demanded conspiratorially.

“Well… the music, jazz, is out of this world. And the dances. Edie, the blokes are practically tossing girls in the air and across the room and it’s fucking fantastic. Men’ll buy you drinks, and you don’t even gotta look at ‘em. And there were these little blue vials, the way they lit up in the dark, drew me in like beacons on the shore.” I took a pause to hit my cigarette again.

“And? What were in the vials?” she prodded impatiently; her voice slightly muffled by the smoke lazily falling from her mouth.

“Flo called it Snow. It is everything the opposite of opium. It speeds you up and makes you feel like you could fly if you really tried. Doesn’t last all too long but it is powerful. Makes you _feel_ powerful.”

“Doesn’t last very long though you said. I don’t know if you’re selling it to me,” she told me, only half joking, but she leaned in towards me as if the information was magnetic.

“Picture it like this,” I leaned forward too, “when a lioness _wants_ the alpha lion, she grabs his balls with her teeth,” I motioned obscenely with the hand holding the cigarette, “and won’t let go until he gives in to her demands. That’s what Snow is like, you are the lioness and the world bows to your will. Even the most powerful man will be on his knees for you.”

She scoffed, “Christ Hazel, leave it to you to describe drugs like you’re writing a poem.”

“Does it not sound better that way?” I asked, one of my dark, thick eyebrows raised halfway to my hairline. “’course it doesn’t work like that for everyone. You already gotta have it in your spirit, like you and me.”

“It does, but I can’t just take your word for it. Guess I’ll just have to try your fancy London drugs,” she concluded with a smirk.

“So, you’ll come stay the weekend with me?” I let the excitement bleed into my voice.

“Of course, I was gonna have to come to see the city that is stealing my best friend away from me eventually. And I’ve heard things about the men out there too.” I knew enough of what she had heard about men in London because I’d been the one to tell her most of it. “I can’t come out for a few weeks though.”

“That’s fine, we still have months until the holiday break. Plenty of time.”

She stubbed her cigarette out and dropped it into her open purse before standing up. “Okay, I’m starting to get cold now, can we go back?”

I stretched a hand out for her to help me up, then gave her hand a tight squeeze. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go, I’m getting hungry,” she grinned, poking me in my side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me forever to get this chapter up. I wrote the majority of it then I got depressed which wasn't the right head space to write this in lol. I know a lot didn't happen in this chapter but there are some key details to pay attention to. Let me know how you guys feel about this chapter, thanks for reading!   
> -A


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very dialogue heavy and important to the story line. I dropped in some hints along the way, be on the lookout!

We picked our way through the trees, the ground below our feet becoming more and more difficult to make out as the Sun fell out of the sky. The damp blanket was folded over my arm, the only barrier between it and my body being my writing journal and my not quite thick enough sweater. Edie walked a few steps ahead of me, her long legs making it easy to surpass my slightly shorter strides. The squelching of our boots walking through the marsh and the soft thud of her bag swinging out and in to hit her leg were the only sounds for the first few minutes of our trek back to civilization.

It was then that Edie started humming softly to herself. The trees rustled all around us with the gust of wind that hit us head on, freezing my nose and throwing Edie’s hair behind her, like fire from a dragon’s mouth.

“Gonna give us a song then?” I coaxed.

“Well, what do ya want?” she continued humming.

“Whatever you want, bab.” She turned back to roll her eyes at me and I gave her a relaxed smile. She hated that answer, but it felt like such a long time since I last heard her sing, I really didn’t care what it was. Her mother used to sing to us all the time when we were young, before we ever would have imagined how hard life would hit us. She stopped humming and cleared her throat. Then she started singing and her voice beat against the trees like water against rocks then floated back to us:

_How happy for the wood birds on the branches above_  
_To flutter together and warble their love!_  
_How I wish we were like them beneath the blue sky!_  
_But ‘tis far, far we are parted, my fond love and I._

A small smile crept across my lips as I listened to the Irish song Edie’s mom sang to us when we were young. Before they had all those kids and she lost her mind. That’s where Edie got her voice.

My chest tightened at the thought of a younger us, playing and enjoying life. Our parents did such a good job at hiding the reality of life’s cruelty from us for so long. We were stupid to think that somehow life would be different for us.

_O Fortune let the birdies alone on the tree_  
_And fetch wings and feathers for Hazel and me,_  
_That we soon may go darting across the salt tide,_  
_And fly singing together in green Malahide._

Our walk brought us through a bigger clearing than the one we spent most of our time in. During the summer, when the sun sat high overhead near the entire day, the space was filled with blooms of purple shooting up from the ground with long, green stems that would brush against the waist on a breezy day. But now, with the days growing shorter and the nights colder, most of the flowers that once stood proud and tall laid on the ground in a mottled mosaic of purple, brown, and green. When we walked past a cluster of them still standing up, I ran my hands over the tops of some and then plucked two of the flowers off of their stem.

I stopped to open my writing journal to the first empty page and nestled the two flowers inside. I snapped the book shut and continued trudging forward. “Did you know that Foxgloves can kill a man or save a man?”

“What are you talking about?” Edie was used to my rambling, but even she had trouble following along sometimes. We used to joke that I was an encyclopaedia full of useless information.

“I learnt it in my botany class. Foxgloves are used in small doses to treat heart conditions but too much and it turns to poison.”

“Poison, huh?” I nodded in affirmation. “Guess that’s fittin’ for something so pretty. Nothing is ever as nice as it seems.”

“When did we become such pessimists?” I asked to no one in general. “Do ya wanna stop with me to get more fags? Maybe get something to drink while we’re at it.”

“Sure. But we have to be fast, I still need to make dinner for me Da.”

“It’s Saturday, can’t he make himself a sandwich?” I queried.

“He’ll want me home. Especially after I left them kids alone most of the day,” she huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, well let’s hurry then,” I sighed dejectedly. It used to be that we would spend every waking hour gallivanting around, out from under the watchful eye of our families. Now, my mother’s heart nearly gives out anytime I stay out after dark and Edie has practically become a mother herself, with too much responsibility heaped upon her shoulders. _Perhaps we could just disappear for a day or two._

Edie suggested we stop at the grocery shop down a street we passed every time we left the city to venture into the woods. It was further away from home than our usual grocery, so it was better for trips like this; the most anonymity one could gain in somewhere like Small Heath. Displays of prettily arranged jars and cans filled the large window with ‘Tillman & Sons Grocer’ painted across it. The bell above the door rang as we walked in, alerting the middle-aged man behind the counter with his back turned, to our entrance. I immediately realized just how cold it was outside as my breath was nearly robbed from my lungs by the stifling heat radiating throughout the long room.

I lifted my hand in a sort of lazy wave and raised my voice to be heard at the opposite end of the room, “Alright Mr. Tillman?”

“Evening ladies,” he greeted us in his normal casual tone. We only went to Tillman’s when we really had to get sweets or food or cigarettes for our trips out to the woods; but over the years, our visits have been enough for us to become familiar faces. He hadn’t ever asked me my name, but one day, a while back, he was talking to Edie and the subject came up while I was looking at one of the numerous displays. She told him her name was Sheila, and when I asked her why she had done that, she’d said she panicked and didn’t know what to say. _The only way to be happy is to be anonymous Hazel, then you can be anyone and do anything. Besides, it was the first thing that came to mind_. I had scoffed at her then, but it started to make sense. On this side of Small Heath, a twenty-minute trip from our side of town to this side and then out to the woods, no one knew our names, or our families, and best of all, no one knew any of our dirty little secrets. The way people talk, none of our ‘secrets’ are secrets on our side of town; everyone knew everything about you and your mother.

We walked aimlessly past a few displays of canned vegetables and jarred fruits, stopping to chatter to each other about nothing in particular. Eventually, Edie used the back of her hand to subtly nudge me towards the checkout counter. I walked over to the counter and leaned one arm against the top, waiting to be noticed.

“What can I do for ya, lass?” Mr. Tillman questioned, looking away from the scrap of paper and pencil he was scribbling numbers down on.

“Can I get a pack of them Gold Flakes and um, how about 10 of those Player’s in that jar,” I requested, pointing to the display of cigarette packs and the large jar of loose cigarettes set next to them. Player’s weren’t my brand of choice, although they were the first brand I ever smoked with Edie. We were 12 years old. I think. That was a long time ago. But Edie still smoked ‘em because they were cheap and she’s acquired a taste for them.

“You want a pack of ten or twenty?” he inquired.

“Twenty, please.”

With a nod, he turned his back to me to gather the requested items and I glanced behind me towards her, just as she slipped a small bottle holding a brown liquid into her skirt pocket. I turned back towards the grocery shop owner and watched as he picked up a brown bag and opened the jar of cigarettes. He took his time counting them out and I counted with him. At eight, I turned to glance back at Edie and she was still hovering round the liquor shelves. As he was turning back around, I blurted out in a panic, “Actually, can I get an ounce of those Golden Toffee Humbugs over there, as well,” pointing in the opposite direction of where he stood.

“Sure thing.” He finished with the cigarettes and placed the lid back on before walking over to another jar that looked identical to the one with which he had just shut, except it was filled with bite sized pieces of candy. I felt Edie sidle up beside me and relaxed a bit. I looked in her direction and she gave me one of her conspiratorial smiles. “Okay,” Mr. Tillman started, turning to face us, “that’ll be eight pence and a quarter.” He placed the cigarettes and bag of sweets in front of me and gave a polite smile.

I pulled my coin purse out of my pocket, counted out eight pence and set it on the counter but I only had a haypence. “You have a farthing?” I asked Edie, still looking through the coins in case I had one hiding. Her hand appeared under my nose holding the coin; I let a quick smile flash across my face and placed the bronze coin on top of the rest. I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and handed the little bag of loose ones to Edie who was already reaching for my Humbugs.

“You girls have a nice evening.” I would have bristled more at being referred to as a _girl_ if we weren’t trying to make a hasty retreat. We exchanged a quick look before I grabbed the bag of sweets and turned to leave.

Edie, a couple steps ahead of me, was nearly to the door when we heard the tell-tale sound of glass clinking against glass. I broke out into a fit of coughs and wrenched the door open. I ushered Edie out the door and with a wave, threw over my shoulder, “Right, good evening Mr. Tillman!”

The cool air assaulted me when I stepped outside into the in between darkness of dusk that still carries the last remnants of the day’s existence. We walked in silence for a block or so and then I turned my head to look at her to see a smirk stretching her less than full lips. “You know, I don’t know what you would do without all me quick thinking,” I teased.

“Oi! Is that what that display of tuberculosis was back there?”

“Well it’s not me fault you’ve not learnt in all these years of miscreance that glass against glass,” I paused for dramatic effect, “ _makes noise_ ,” I finished scandalously. That got me a whack on the arm.

“Keep bein’ mean to me girly, and ya won’t get any of the spoils,” Edie, wearing a mock frown, wagged a finger in my face. “Besides, it’s your job to be the lookout and part of that job is covering _my_ ass.”

“If you don’t share with me, I’ll keep all these Humbugs to me-self,” I goaded, shaking the bag full of said sweets in front of her face. Of course, I would never have done that to Edie, we had a mutual understanding that sweets and cigarettes were our vices; the former having a stronger grasp on our souls than the latter.

“Couldn’t resist ‘em could you?”

“What are you on about?”

“You had to get a bag of sweets. It’s an addiction really, Hazel,” she laughed.

I scoffed. She was one to talk. “That’s fine, some addictions make life better.” She just shook her head and looked down to the old, purse hanging from her arm. When she unclasped the rubbed brass attached to weathered leather of the bag, I was surprised to see what laid inside. “What the fuck is all that? You gonna start your own business?” Her bag, which surely was not small, was filled to the brim with bottles of liquor; what looked to be whiskey and rum, not a surprise.

“As a matter of fact, I just about am. Gonna take these,” she wiggled the arm that held her purse in the air so the glass would clang together, “and sell ‘em cheaper than the shops but still enough to make a bob. The way I see it, Mr. Tillman back there was planning on selling them for a florin, I reckon, if I charge a bob and sixpence, I can make quite a pretty profit.” She half turned to give me a smile full of pride.

“Edie, you _stole_ them,” I lowered my voice when I said the word, so as not to be overheard by any of the lamp lighters out doing their nightly duties. “You could sell them for a fucking farthing and you would make a profit.”

“I know that,” she huffed. “What I’m saying is that I’m gonna make a lot of fucking money!”

“What happened to the money you get for helping me Mom?” Edie started helping my mom with errands and small sewing jobs since halfway through the War. Her father’s checks from the army were helpful, but having all them kids and no one to work overtime hours to bring in more money, times started to get tough. Before then, it had always been my job to do that kind of work, but I never got paid for it, only veiled threats and lectures on ‘Wah yuh poor madda hav bin tru an all she hav dun fi yuh’.

“This is going towards my personal funds.”

“What personal funds?”

“Hazel, I ain’t a mother, no matter how much it might seem like it. Your education is going to get you out of here, I’m gonna need something to get me out. The kids are getting older, more able to take care of themselves. I can’t stay here forever, and I won’t stay here without you. I need a life of my own, I wanna experience something other than Small Heath and other people’s fucking kids,” she trailed off and I heard her suck in a breath then hold it.

“Okay, so then Edie’s Exit Fund it is.” I dug through the bag of Humbugs and pulled out the prettiest one to give to Edie. “Here, my first contribution to the fund, there might be more where that came from.” I waggled my eyebrows at her.

The Garrison came into view, signalling to us that we were back on our side of town. We walked a few more minutes before I stopped. “Right, well I think I’m gonna walk down to the Cut.”

“What? _Why_?” she demanded sharply.

“’Cause I need to go and write and I’ll be able to think better down there,” that was only a half truth. _And I don’t want to go home because of the overwhelming feelings of doom and sadness I have anytime I set foot into our building._ But she doesn’t need to know that.

“Come on Hazel, it’s dark, cold, and getting late. Why don’t you just go tomorrow? You don’t even have a coat! Or a scarf, for that matter,” she finished exasperatedly.

“Because Edie! I’ve put this off too long and if I don’t go tonight, I probably won’t make it out there tomorrow before I have to take the train back to London.” _She’s right about the scarf and coat. I don’t have a solution for that other than to tough it out, and maybe some of that whiskey in her purse._

Edie sighed long and hard before wrenching her scarf off and wrapping it around my neck. A strangled sound bubbled up my throat and out into the fall air. Any tighter and I might have thought she was trying to choke me. “Oh hush, if you’re going to be stupid, at least don’t get sick because of it. I’m keeping me own coat because _I’m_ not goin’ to catch cold because _you_ want to be stupid.”

“Well shit, okay Mom. I’ll wear the scarf, please just stop trying to strangle me with it!”

“I should strangle ya! Just be careful yeah? Don’t stay out there too long, I don’t want anything bad to happen to ya.”

I leaned forward to give her a quick smooch on the cheek and pulled another sweet from the bag to give her. Immediately the frown melted off her face and was replaced by a weary smile. _And I’m the one with the addiction, huh?_ “I’ll not be long, Bab. Promise.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out two bottles of rum. “Here, I got these special for you. I know you like the sweet stuff.” I slide both bottles, smaller than my writing journal into the deep pockets of my trousers and we went our separate ways. The sound the heels of her boots made against the dirt caked cobblestones growing quieter the further she away we got.

~*****~

Sitting under the glowing, green light emitted from the streetlamp above me, I remembered just why Edie had been so worried about me coming out here at night. It’s not the same being alone, but I couldn’t ask Edie to come here with me, it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t so bad when I could get into my writing, but every time I hear a rat go running, I have a little heart attack. So far, after near an hour, none of the noises I thought were people have been people. Once I remembered the blade I had in my boot, the noises stopped sending me arse over kettle; I was still vigilant, just not so scared.

That is, until I heard a sound that was most definitely made by people. Men, actually, drunk men from the sound of their raffish laughter. Their footsteps and voices grew louder and as soon as I could make them out, I knew their faces. _Fuck. What are the odds?_ I buried my face in my journal and tried to focus on my writing. _Maybe if I turn my head away from the light and pretend like I don’t exist, they won’t notice me._ _Won’t hurt to try._ It was very plausible they would mistake me as a man, because of my adventuring clothes, and continue about their business.

The footsteps came to a stop, one set before all the others. “Tommy?” I heard Arthur say questioningly, there was some shuffling. _Of course, I wouldn’t go unnoticed._

“Hazel?” I heard that tell-tale, gravelly voice call down to me from the opposite side of the cut. My back stiffened the smallest bit, but otherwise, my feigned deafness seemed perfectly executed. “Hazel, I know that’s you… and I know you can hear me,” a little louder this time, I guess in case I really hadn’t actually heard him. _Tonight, I am deaf and blind_. There were a few seconds of silence then I heard some murmuring and the footsteps started up again, headed in the same direction as before. I stayed still for a few ticks more until the footsteps were far enough away before I relaxed back into the silence. That is until I looked up. Then I very nearly did have a heart attack.

My hand flew to my chest, an involuntary gasp escaped from me, I’m sure loud enough that he could hear it on the other side of the cut. Standing there in all his smouldering, gangster glory was the last person I wanted to see. His brows were pulled down over his blue eyes, his lips pressed into a taught line, jaw clenched. “What the fuck are you do, standing there like a killer?” I growled angrily. He ignored me, _taking a page from my book hey,_ choosing instead to walk back in the direction he came also, in the direction of the bridge he would need to cross in order to get to me. And of course, the same place I would have to get to in order to run away from him. I was trapped and before I could decide on a better exit strategy or even stand up, he was all but right beside me. 

He stood there, looking down at me, his face unreadable in the greenish hue of the light streaming from the streetlamps. “Can I sit down?”

I hesitated for a bit too long for it to seem natural. That was the last thing I had been expecting him to say. Looking away from his face and down to the water below my feet, I mumbled, “You’re the ‘Boss’ aren’t you; ain’t much I can do to stop ya is there?”

He sat down beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off of his body. _Bet if a stranger came across us, they would think we were friends or secret lovers_ , that thought made me bristle. _Fix yourself Hazel, we ain’t friends and we definitely ain’t star-crossed lovers._ I closed my writing journal, leaving my pencil to mark my place. _What does he want? He wouldn’t just come sit down here with me for no reason._

“What are you doing out here Hazel?” His tone was casual, like normal conversations between us was something that happened all the time.

“Why exactly does it matter?” Maybe if he gets annoyed with me, he’ll leave faster.

“Because, it’s not safe out here on the brightest of days, and this,” he swept his arm out, gesturing generally, “is not one of those days.”

 _Great, another lecture on safety. At least Edie has a stake in the claim. What is it any of his business if I am in an unsafe area?_ “I had to get some writing done and I figured I would be able to think _in peace_ out here. Besides, news flash, we are in Small Heath, everywhere is dangerous.” The sarcastic obviously was implied.

He hummed in agreement and his head nodded ever so slightly. “Aye, mostly everywhere is dangerous, except your house. That’s why you should be there right now. Besides, I’m sure Sha is getting worried about you. She doesn’t know you’re here, does she? You know how she gets,” his tone was almost, soft?

My back stiffened and I sat up straighter when he mentioned my mother in such familiar terms. _Who does he think he is? Calling her Sha like he knows her. He lost that right long ago._ “Yes, _Thomas,_ I know ‘how she gets. She is _my_ mother after all,” there was more venom in my tone than I had intended. “I’m a grown woman now, everyone just needs to learn to accept that.”

The conversation lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, for me anyway, it didn’t seem to faze him. We sat there like that for longer than I would have thought, both staring ahead, the sound of my boots softly hitting the wall of the canal as I swung my legs back and forth. “So, did it work?”

“Did what work,” I asked, taken aback by the abrupt break in silence.

“Were ya able to write?”

“Oh. Yea. Well, that is, until you interrupted me.”

“Good. That’s good,” he started awkwardly. “What did you write about?”

“That’s personal.” Short and sweet, he’ll have to shut up now.

“It’s not for one of your classes at university?”

 _What?_ “Um no,” I said hesitantly. “It’s for my personal collection.” Tonight’s writing was one of hundreds of pieces I had collected throughout the years, some going as far back as 12 years. The writings of an eight-year-old aren’t exactly publishing worthy, those were more for nostalgia’s sake. “All I’ll tell you is that it’s a letter.” _Why did you tell him that you dunce?_

“You gonna send it?”

“No. I said it is for my personal collection. Why would I send it?” _Why is he being nice? What is he on about?_

“Why write a letter you can’t send?”

“Nowhere to send it to even if I wanted to send it. You ain’t never wrote a letter you didn’t send? You’ve not changed your mind? Or written to the long since gone?”

“Aye, I have,” he said thoughtfully.

“Exactly.” We fell back into silence. A particularly cold breeze blew across the canal, reminding me how cold it was and how underdressed for the weather I was. I hoped the shiver that ran down my spine wasn’t too noticeable.

“Are you cold?” He was already standing up and pulling his coat off before I had even answered. “Why aren’t you wearing a coat?” _Because I forgot arsehole._

“I’m fine,” I tried to shrug his coat off of my shoulders but he kept it from falling; and I was cold, and his coat was _so_ warm, I didn’t put up very much of a fight. _This is fucking weird._ “Why are you being _nice_ to me?” I demanded suspiciously.

“What do you mean?” _Yea Hazel, what do you mean?_ “I’ve always been nice to you Hazel, you know that.”

“Correction, you used to be nice to me.” _Why are you pushing this? You know you don’t really want to have this conversation right now._ “Why is it, that we keep crossing paths? I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen you in the last seven years, six of those I lived here every day of the year and almost two since I’ve been back every weekend. Now all of a sudden, I see you every time I come home, _twice_ just today?”

He paused for a minute. I don’t think he was expecting me to say that. I wasn’t expecting to say that. Where had that come from? I had long moved past the mourning period of our relationship, or so I had thought. But of course, as I had learnt many times over, mourning never really ends. As the time stretched on, I really started to wish I had kept my mouth shut. _Should’ve just left as soon as he showed up. I knew nothing good could come from us talking or even seeing each other._

He cleared his throat and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his left trouser pocket, which meant he had to lean towards me to get it out. I froze. I could feel the heat radiating from his body onto my face. I breathed in through my nose, trying to seem casual; the heady aroma of smoke and earth and the faintest hint of whiskey wafted to me. I put my head down and looked at my hands in my lap, running my fingers over the edge of my composition book. _Get it together girl, wat is di matta wit yuh?_

He smacked his lips and I looked back over at him. “Four of those years,” he started slowly, “I was at war, and a year after I got back, you went away to university.” That still doesn’t account for the year before her went off; I would have told him too, if I hadn’t been so stunned that he was even giving me an answer in the first place. He hunched over and rubbed a cigarette between his lips and then flicked his hand. A metallic click was accompanied by a small flame coming alight from the lighter in his hand. He lit it and then flipped the lighter shut again before sticking it and his pack back into his pocket. He didn’t offer me one. But this time, when he leaned back in my direction to reach back into his pocket, I was able to play it off more calmly. “I’ve been busy with the business. You were busy with school. Time just got away from me I guess.”

“What a load of shite,” I scoffed. _Time just got away from him?! Wow! I guess time flies when you aren’t the one abruptly cut out of an entire family’s life, when you needed them the most._

“Oi! Watch your mouth when you’re talking to me.” _Okay, I’m over this shit._

“Jesus wept, Thomas! Stop talking to me like I’m a girl. If ya had paid attention maybe you would have noticed I grew up!” I struggled to stand up while at once drowning in his coat that was way too big for me and trying not to fall into the water. “I’m going home,” I ground out as I handed him back his coat.

“Keep it,” he stood up and pushed my hand back towards my body. “At least while I walk you home.”

“You aren’t walking me home, so take the coat Thomas or I’ll put it in the cut,” I threatened, hoping I looked as intimidating as I felt.

He took a step towards me and I matched it with one of my own backwards. “I’m trying to be patient, Ruth, but you’re really pushing your luck. I _am_ going to walk you home because you shouldn’t’ve been out here alone, _at night_ , in the first place. There are people who would be very pissed off with me if I let you walk home alone, and I wouldn’t do that to them. So put the coat back on and let’s go.” _He’s always been a bossy bastard._

“You _know_ I don’t like being called Ruth.” _Wow Hazel, you really told him._

“And you know I don’t like being called Thomas. Put the coat on Hazel,” his voice was back to that casual softness that contrasted this hard exterior he had come back from the War with. But of course, I knew he hated being called Thomas. It’s why I did it. Preferably I wouldn’t have to utter his name at all, but if he was going to keep popping back up in my life, I was going to do everything I could to make him rethink that decision. I stood there with a death grip on the offending article of clothing, glaring up at his face. _His bloody flippin’ face with his bloody flippin’ razor sharp jaw and his bloody flippin’ full lips, that is the gypsy in him_. _Wot? Hazel, get it together,_ I mentally slapped myself. _What is wrong with you today?_ Another sharp breeze wafted past us. I’m not sure if it was my shiver or him growing tired of waiting for me to obey his commands like one of his little soldiers, but he wrenched the coat from my hand and shook it out before putting it back over my shoulders. The look in his eyes was enough for me to decide on my own to keep it on. I’m not exactly sure what he would have done, he is a gangster now after all, not the bookmaker I once knew. Instead of arguing, I just walked stiffly past him and up the stone steps to the street. He could follow me if he wanted to, didn’t mean he was walking me home.

I huffed in frustration as I tried to simultaneously keep bloody Thomas Shelby’s coat on my shoulders and light a cigarette from the pack I bought earlier in the evening. I felt his strong hand wrap around the upper part of my arm and pull me to a stop. He took the coat and shook one of the sleeves at me like he was expecting me to put my arm in.

As if for confirmation, “Put your arm in.” When I didn’t move immediately, he shook the arm again and I sighed before sliding my arm in the first pro-offered sleeve and then turned around to insert the other. He turned me back around by the arm. He had his lighter in his hand and he tipped my head up with the tip of one of his fingers. _What is going on?_ Our eyes met as he lit the cigarette; I had left it hanging from my lips to put the coat on. His brows were furrowed and if this wasn’t his resting facial expression, I would have thought he was angry. We stood like that for a few seconds, his pale eyes boring into mine. _What is he staring at? I don’t remember his eyes being this beautiful before._ I broke the link first. _Beautiful? Really Hazel? Of course, you didn’t, you were just a girl before, no interest in any boy or man in Tommy’s case._

“Ta,” I said awkwardly, then turned to continue walking at a pace a little faster than before. If he noticed he didn’t say anything, as a matter of fact, he didn’t say anything else until we were in front of the door of my building.

“Don’t go out without a coat anymore Hazel. Summer is over now, it’ll only get colder from here,” he rumbled in a low, soft voice. I could have been mistaken by the bit of steel behind his words and the look in his eyes.

“Yea, right. Thanks,” I said as I handed over his coat, unsure of what else to say. He leaned past me to push open the door and hold it open for me. Like this, his face was close enough for me to smell the cigarettes and whiskey on his breath.

“Goodnight Hazel.”

“Goodnight Tommy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Gypsy is a slur, don't use it in real life. I know it took me a minute to get this out, hopefully the next chapter won't take so long. This one was really hard to write, not sure why, I just wasn't satisfied. Let me know what you guys think.
> 
> In terms of the money mentioned: a farthering is 1/4 penny, a florin is 2 shillings, a haypence is 1/2 penny, and a bob is 1 shilling. I doesn't really matter but in case anyone wants to know and doesn't, it's all old English money.


	5. A Letter Which Cannot Be Sent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What 2 updates in 1 week? It won't be a pattern haha. I'm supposed to be packing to move, but my level of procrastination is "find other things to keep me 'busy' so I can brush off the anxiety of waiting until the last minute to pack." Let me know what you guys think of this format and if the font is too difficult/annoying to read. This chapter is a companion piece to chapter 4, so if you haven't already, read that first.

Small Heath, Bham.  
9 Oct., 1920

My Dearest Charlie,

I am sorry the time in between my writings to you has continued to stretch longer and longer. University work has gotten the best of me, and I simply have no capacity to write absolutely anything anymore. I’ve been in a perpetual state of uncreativeness since May and the frustration of this has only made it worse. I don’t know if it is the want to be anywhere but home or the ache in my heart or the near constant knot in my gut that has inspired this evening’s outing but finally my mind has cleared.

Now Charlie, I know you might have been upset that I’ve come down to the cut by me self, but fear not, Edie has already read me the Riot Act. You’ve been on my mind so much as of late. And it has been too long since I last saw you, but today, for the first time in many months, you came to see me in the clearing and I could have died of happiness. That’s when I knew I had to come. Plus, your blade is always with me on my adventuring days; you know I know how to use it, you made sure of that. Always my protector. Always my teacher. If you knew me now, I would hope you’d be impressed.

That time of year is coming round, when I can only think of you and Da. That all the tragedies have been sequestered to one time of year is a small blessing, Mama and I wouldn’t be able to handle year-round memories. We must look for the positive everywhere lest we lose all hope in a place like this, but there are many more days that I forget such pragmatism and fall into the grips of despair than not. To make matters worse, for the last six weeks, each time I’ve come home for the week’s end, I’ve seen Thomas at least once, and each time, he has tried to talk to me. How dare he, after all this time. Surely our run ins cannot have been on purpose, but even still, I would rather he walk right past me as if I am but another stranger on the street; just as he has treated me for the last seven years. I’m sorry Charlie, but he is not the same Tommy we once knew, he changed almost immediately and then even more after the War. He is unrecognizable. Be not distraught dear brother, Mada and I have flourished without him and that family in our lives. Perhaps if it had happened early, things would be different.

We will leave this place Charlie, and I will carry you with me always in my heart, where ever we shall go. I promise to try and write to you more. It is the least you deserve. 

With all the love I have to give,  
R. H. Montgomery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every chapter won't be like this, I just thought it would be a fun way to advance the story while also fitting with the dark academic/brooding writer story line. Hope you guys enjoyed it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one folks, I thought it would be better than making you guys wait any longer. Hope you enjoy.

“Flo, I don’t think I can go to dinner at your parent’s house tonight,” I murmured, dropping my pen on top of my composition notebook and leaning back in my chair with a thud.

Flo’s head snapped up from the page she had been vigorously scribbling equations down on for the last two hours. “What? Why not?” I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “I already told them you were coming. They are so excited, they really love you, you know.”

“I’ve got to finish writing this essay for my botany course before I go home for the weekend. And I’m starting to regret deciding on _Paradise Lost_ to write my term paper on for that bloody English Restoration Literature course. It’s a fucking pain in my side.”

“So then choose another book. It’s not too late is it?”

“It might as well be. I’ve got to defend my choice to my professor tomorrow morning. Remember when you went with me last week to sign up for a meeting time? We were supposed to chose something that isn’t already on the syllabus, but _Paradise Lost_ technically is.”

“Well then why did you chose it? There had to have been another option.”

Of course, there were other options! It’s only a few select portions of the bloody thing. But I always know better than everyone else. “I thought I could come up with a good enough argument that he wouldn’t turn me down.” That was before I heard three other students in my class had been told to choose another book. “I haven’t slept all week and now I can’t come up with anything,” I moaned, letting my head fall forward onto the cool, cark wood of our usual library table. _Stupid, Hazel. Always too smart for your own good. This is what I get for being fucking cocky._

Flo was quiet for long enough that I thought she might have gone back to her work. I kept my head down, eyes closed, wishing I could just go back to my room, sink into the comfort of my bed and stay there the until Monday. “Well how close are you to finishing your botany work?”

With a sigh, I slowly lifted my head from the table, my skin tingling where the blood had been forced away was now rushing back. “Not close at all,” I glared down at the half-filled page I had abandoned.

“Maybe, I can ring Mum and ask if she can postpone dinner until tomorrow. Then we can even go out afterwards!”

I tried to refrain from grimacing. Going to the Eden Club last week had been more fun than I would have imagined, but this week, I just wasn’t in the mood. All week, every time I laid down to rest, I dreamed of Charlie or my father. The growing knot in my gut was making me restless and unable to eat. I just wanted to go home, be with my mother. “I’m really not feeling well Flo. I think I’ll catch the earliest train back to Birmingham tomorrow after my meeting.” 

“Really Hazel?” I just shrugged. “Why haven’t you been sleeping?” She demanded, dropping back in her seat, giving me her undivided attention. I shrugged again, this time with a sigh, and went back to my notebook, as if to start writing again in hopes that she would drop the subject. I shouldn’t have let that slip anyway.

It was moments like these that I wished I still spent most of my time with Edie instead of Flo. Not that I don’t like Flo, she is a great friend, but she doesn’t know _me_. She knows Hazel, the ballsy writer from Birmingham; the girl who seems to feel nothing but confidence, has one goal and no fears; a faced trying to force its way into existence. Edie and even to a degree my mother knew it was best that I be left to myself and my own musings when the wall I had spent nearly the past 10 years building, started to show its cracks. Frustration bloomed deep in my gut; my hands clutched into fists without my say so. _Jesus wept! Get a hold of yourself girl._ I shut my eyes tight and focused on breathing slowly, filling my lungs to their complete capacity before releasing the air quietly through my lips. _A few bloody sleepless nights and yer clawing at the walls._

“I think I’ll go back to me room,” I blurted, already packing my things away into my book sac.

Flo moved to do the same, “Okay… I’ll come with you.”

“No! It’s alright. You don’t have to, stay and finish your work.” I stood up to pull on my coat as she gave me an odd look. “Really Flo, stay and finish. I just need some air and time to me self.” I tried to give her a reassuring smile, I could tell it didn’t reach my eyes, and from the look she gave me, she saw right through it. Before she had a chance to say anything else, I turned away, towards the front of the building, where the grand staircases stood. I waved as I called over my shoulder in a faux whisper, 

“I’ll see you next week! Tell your mom I said I’m sorry for the inconvenience and I hope she’ll have me another time.”

I didn’t wait for her response, rather choosing to make my exit with haste, the fewer words between us the better. My hands shook as I tried to slot the buttons of my coat through their designated holes, I didn’t notice the lump of flesh in front of me until I had already run into it. Said lump let out a sound of frustration too loud for a library and my head snapped up as I fell a couple steps back.

“Hey! Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

“For fuck sakes Bernice, you’ve got eyes too, hey? You saw me coming? You could have moved out of the fucking way,” I bit, in no mood to deal with this girl today.

Her usually pinched face seemed to get all the more pinched, I would have thought it not possible until that moment. She pointed her finger in my direction, “Your mouth is as dirty as your skin,” she ground out in a hushed tone. I could have hit her; it wouldn’t have been the first time I scrapped with a foul-mouthed bitch. _You are past that part of your life. You’re too old to fight, and this isn’t Birmingham._

I pulled my shoulders back and took a slow, and hopefully threatening, step towards her. “You must not know who I am or you wouldn’t think to say such shite to me. So, I’ll do you a favor Bernice and warn you. The next time you see me coming, move. Out. Of. My. Way.” Just as with Flo, I didn’t wait for her to reply before I was again taking my leave. After a moment, I heard the harsh staccato of heels rapidly beating against the stone floors.

I brought a lit match to the end of the cigarette easily holding on to my lips, watching the flame of the match jump and shiver as my hands shook with the effort of not losing my mind on the walk back to my lodgings. The peaks of my cheeks and the tip of my nose burned from the sharp bite of the wind that had been tormenting me all week. _It’ll only get colder from here,_ my top lip curled in disgust when Thomas Shelby’s words popped into my mind. _Bloody bastard always has to be right. Of course, I know summer is over, it’s the beginning of October for Christ sake but he_ said _it on the one day I’d forgotten my coat. Should go without one from now on every time I am home._ Obviously, I am not so self-sabotaging to follow through on the act, but the bounds are far and few in between of what I would do just to spite him.

Most of my life it has just been me and Mum, and she had really been quelled by all the tragedy and such. I did as I pleased for the most part, Mum and I took care of each other, we were close, inherently our relationship was different than many others; it wasn’t authority figure and child. There were few times I was scolded by her, my father had always been the one to do that anyway, and even then, only on rare occasion. All this is to say, I do not respond well to others giving me orders nor directives; it’s the way I’ve always been, and certainly now that I have tasted the freedom I have, it won’t be something that changes.

I took one last draw of the fag in my hand before throwing the but down a few steps from the entryway of my dormitory. I pulled on the large wooden door harder than was particularly necessary in my haste to escape the cold and retreat to my room where no one could bother me. I kept my head down and took the stairs two at a time, walking with a purpose. By the time I reached my room, I was out of breath. I cringed at the bang my door made when I shut it a little bit harder than I meant to and sat down on the end of my bed to tug my boot off. I fell back onto my bed with a sigh.

I’m not exactly sure how long I laid there but eventually my eyes fell shut, the cold seeping into my stockinged feet pressed firmly onto the wooden floor. The sound of my breathing echoed through my ears. As I lay there, signs of life radiated throughout the building and down to my ears. Heels clicking down the halls. Wooden legs of a desk chair scraping across the floor. A heavy door to the stairwell swinging shut. A soft cough. Loud gales of laughter. Knocking. If there had been the screeching cry of a babe and a couple in the midst of a row, it would have been near identical to my Birmingham lullaby. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to write this chapter for so long. It was originally supposed to be longer than this but I couldn't figure out a good way to blend the second half together without it feeling awkward and stunted so I've just cut this one short. Also, I didn't put a trigger warning for racism, bc in my experience this isn't so horrible on the scale of bad experiences (all racism is BS) but if y'all think I should add a trigger warning for it and just all racism in the future I will. All be it, I don't plan for there to be much but you know. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed and again sorry for the short chapter after such a long wait, it won't be so long between now and the next chapter this time. Let me know what you think!


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